


Lost In The Sea Of Sky

by HalfshellVenus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Community: 60_minute_fics, Community: spn_50states, M/M, Slash, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/pseuds/HalfshellVenus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Season One): Losing the past and losing themselves…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starting Over

**Author's Note:**

> Written during Season One for spn_50states, for Montana. The first chapter began as a standalone fic for the “Amnesia” trigger on 60_minute_fics, but the boys deserved a happier ending.

~*~

His head felt like he’d collided with a brick when he awoke. Everything was muddled, clumsy, _painful_. Beeping noises intruded, and a dark blob of—hair?—covered the bed near his legs.

“What—“ he croaked out. The hair lifted and became a face, its worried eyes peering into his own. He felt a sudden urge to scramble backwards, but the bed kept him right where he was. All he could do was stare nervously as those eyes became closer and wetter, and then…

“Whoa!” He pushed hard on those shoulders that were much too close, narrowly avoiding a major personal encounter with some total stranger—a guy no less—who apparently was about to kiss him.

“Dude, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Was this someone who molested random guys in hospitals or what?

“Sorry, I just—I was worried, that’s all. You’ve been out for days.” 

“Uh, okay. Don’t you think you’re maybe overreacting a little then? I mean, it’s nice you’re glad to see me and all, but just… keep it over there, okay?”

“There’s nobody here, Dean. The nurses only come around every half hour. The doctor checks in maybe once a day.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“That first part. What did you call me?”

 _“What?”_

“Was it a name? Is it my name?”

“Oh, God.” The guy got up and paced across the room and back. He seemed awfully tall. “You’re kidding, right?”

“About what? Do I know you well enough to pull something like that?”

“Dean!”

“So that’s my name then? Dean? What kind of name is that? I feel more like a Jack or a Steve...”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Before you tried to put the moves on me? And waking up?” Dean thought a moment, reached up to scratch his head before the IV lines pulled him up short. “Not a whole hell of a lot, to tell the truth.”

“Crap.” The guy sat down and ran his hands up over his hair, head bowed in exasperation. “So you don’t remember me?”

“No. Should I?”

“Yes! I’m Sam! I’m your brother, for god’s sake!”

“Oh... Wait, _what?_ Then why did you—“

“Never mind. Long story. Well this is going to be more than a little inconvenient.”

“Gee, sorry to put you out. Not like it’s a problem for _me_ or anything.”

“You’re dicking around now, aren’t you? You sound exactly the same as always.”

“No, I just…whatever. Why am I in the hospital?”

“We had some trouble with the poltergeist at the Smithson farm, and it nailed you in the head with a candlestick. It’s okay, though—I got rid of it.”

Dean just stared. And stared. His mouth opened, and then closed when he ran out of a focal point for all the _Did you just say…What? Polter-what?_ thoughts running through his head.

“Oh,” Sam said uncomfortably. “I guess you don’t remember that.”

Dean was thinking it might be time to call for a nurse, or security, because someone here was clearly off his meds.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, as if he could read Dean’s mind-- or the expression on his face. “I’m not nuts. This is just… it’s what we do. Our family, I mean. It’s the family business.”

“You’re shitting me.” The headache had really picked up, and the pounding put a major dent in Dean’s sense of humor.

“I’m really not,” Sam said. “But that can wait. We’ll have to see what the doctor says about your head, figure out whether you’re ready to leave yet.”

 _Not on a bet,_ Dean thought. _Not with you, and not anytime soon._

~*~

Surprisingly, this Sam guy turned out to be fairly persuasive. 

The doctor discharged Dean that afternoon, and he found himself getting dressed and leaving the hospital despite his own driver’s license that said he was Gerald Wilkins (what kind of a stupid-ass name was Gerald?), while Sam’s claimed he was Harry Wilkins. Sam told him to ignore the fake IDs, that it was part of the business, which was pretty damned suspicious, Dean thought. Maybe he was getting sprung by a convenience-store robber or something.

In any case, even their IDs said they were family, and Sam’s ride turned out to be a gleaming, black wet-dream of a muscle car, which was not too shabby a way to get kidnapped if it came to that.

They drove for awhile until Sam pulled over at a seedy-looking motel and parked. Dean did the quick mental math while Sam climbed out of the car and waited for him to follow.

“I am not going in there for some kind of quickie with you, so maybe you’d better take me back to the hospital until my real family shows up.”

“Christ, knock it off, Dean! I _am_ your real family. And this is where we’ve been staying while we worked on the poltergeist case.”

“Don’t start with the poltergeist thing again. And this place is a dump!”

“It’s not a rich business, Dean. It never has been. Now will you please get out of the car?”

Dean got out warily, following Sam into the dimly-lit room. Duffle bags, roadmaps, and a musty smell waited inside. Dean suddenly felt immensely tired at the thought of coping with whatever this was that lay all over the room waiting for him.

He sat down on the nearest bed, which quickly turned into leaning back and staring at the ceiling. His head was killing him, and he was not up to being welcomed back into whatever degenerate life he appeared to be leading. This had to be some sort of bad dream. Maybe he was still unconscious, and he’d wake up in awhile to find himself in a dorm room at Illinois State or something.

Sam went into the bathroom, and came out with a cool washcloth to drape over Dean’s forehead. And that felt kind of nice, actually. It helped. Not so much the part where Sam kept sitting on the bed next to him, obviously wanting to touch him, but Dean guessed he couldn’t blame him too much.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he said softly.

“Me too,” Sam whispered hoarsely. He patted Dean’s arm awkwardly, and got up to fish around the room. He brought a driver’s license and a book over from one of the duffle bags, and a map from the table.

“This is you,” Sam said, and showed him the driver’s license that proclaimed “Dean Winchester” to the world. Winchester was actually a pretty cool last name.

“This is Dad’s journal, with cases we’ve worked on and what we’ve learned. And stuff Dad’s picked up along the way from books and friends.” The journal was a mixture of newspaper articles, handwriting, photographs and sketches. Many of the pictures showed dark, unworldly things, evil creatures of various kinds.

“And this is where we were working near town.” The map of Montana—apparently the farm had been just outside Kalispell-- had circles and lines and marks in several different colors of ink and of different apparent age. As if they’d used it many times over the years, adding information as they went.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” Dean said. “Hell—I can’t believe it’s anybody’s life.”

“It’s not what most people do, but we’ve been at this since we were kids.” 

“Why? Are we all insane? Why would we want to spend our lives doing _this?_ ” Because this honestly did not look all that great. It looked dangerous and depressing, and even burger-flipping had more appeal. 

“I’ll tell you in the morning—if I still have to,” Sam said. “But believe me when I say that we need to do this… and that you _want_ to do this. You actually love it—far more than I do. You like to think of it as your destiny.”

 _Great, I’m a delusional thrillseeker. Makes me so eager to remember all the details of my past._

“I guess it can wait,” Dean said. He was as tired of trying to think about it as Sam probably was of telling him.

“Why don’t you go to the bathroom, and then I’ll help you get settled. You’ll probably want to sleep for the rest of the day.”

Dean came back to a turned-down bed and his pain pills on the nightstand. He stripped off his outer clothes and pants while Sam got him a glass of water, and he climbed in bed gladly after taking the pills. The bed was lumpy and vaguely dirty-looking, but he was so terribly, terribly exhausted all of a sudden.

Sam brought the covers up, tucking Dean in (to his embarrassment), and then stood there uncomfortably for a moment. Dean took pity on him.

“I’m sure I’ll remember soon,” he said, and he reached up to grasp Sam’s hand.

Sam’s smile was both heartbroken and grateful, and Dean wished he had more to offer him. But he just couldn’t, not knowing who either of them were.

Sam squeezed Dean’s hand, and turned off the bedside lamp. His shoulders slumped as he moved over to sit on the unused bed.

Dean couldn’t help but think that whatever he and Sam had together… it was nice to see how badly it was missed.

 

-/-


	2. Sam: And All This Was Mine

~*~

He’d been so happy to see Dean open his eyes at last. After three days of waiting by the bed, worrying and hoping, he could hardly believe he wasn’t dreaming when Dean finally looked at him.

And then… the worry was replaced by a slow-burning fear of another sort entirely. Dean—his Dean—still hadn’t woken up. 

Now Sam sat on a motel-room bed watching Dean sleep, unable to even touch him. He wanted to be in that bed, wrapped around Dean. He wanted to hold him close and feel the slow beat of Dean’s heart under his hand.

Instead, he was more alone than ever. Instead of bringing his brother back from the hospital, Sam brought back someone who didn’t even know him—and maybe didn’t want to. Everything was still unfinished and unresolved—with no guarantees of ever getting better.

Sam slid down on the bed, lying on his side where he could look at Dean and think. After all it had taken to make them what they’d finally become to each other, was he ready to give that up? He had to admit the possibility that even if Dean remembered who he was, he might not like the choices he’d made before. And those choices very much included his relationship with Sam. Could he go back to just being Dean’s brother, if it came to that? Or would he follow the same slow path to ruin that Dean had been on before everything had changed?

Sam pulled the other pillow out from behind him, clutching it to his stomach. The place at his front felt so empty, so exposed. He fell asleep with the image of Dean’s still face before him, floating in his thoughts like an impossible, distant dream.

~*~

It had been a long and uncomfortable night, and Sam was still half asleep when he awoke to an empty room the next morning. His thoughts settled quickly when he heard sounds from the bathroom, and realized Dean hadn’t fled during the night.

Sam got up slowly and stumbled in on Dean shaving over the bathroom sink. His brother’s skin was pale next to the stubble that still remained.

“I borrowed your razor—hope you don’t mind,” Dean said.

“It’s actually yours,” Sam said. “So go ahead. But if that’s soap-lather, you’re going to be sorry. Use the shaving cream.”

“Uh—okay, if you say so. Tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” Sam shrugged. “It’s your face.” He reached for a towel and washcloth and laid them on top of the toilet tank.

“And a mighty fine-looking one it is, too. This whole package is pretty damn hot.” Dean postured for himself in the mirror, smiling with too many teeth while he turned this way and that and admired his arms.

“Glad to see your ego’s still intact,” Sam muttered. “Some things never change.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Sam turned the shower on and started removing his clothes.

“Hey, hey!” Dean protested. “Can’t this wait ‘til I’m done?”

This… This from the man who was usually all over him before he’d even gotten his shirt off. Sam’s eyes stung, but he just turned his back, finished undressing and stepped into the shower wordlessly.

“Guess not,” he heard Dean say over the rushing water. 

Sam bowed his head under the rush of water, under the weight of Dean’s casual, careless rejection. Which would hurt more—Dean’s disinterest, or his discomfort? Sam had the uneasy feeling he’d be finding out the answer to that soon. And probably a few other questions he hadn’t thought to ask.

~*~

The booth in the diner down the street was quiet. Dean sat across from Sam, his eyes taking in the ubiquitous wooden paneling, the cigarette scars on the formica tabletop. Dean’s attention soon wandered onto other things, his head swiveling each time the waitress went by. 

Sam felt a pang of worry. “Dean!” he hissed.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Could you dial it down before your head falls off your neck?”

Dean was puzzled by Sam’s reaction. “What, I’m not allowed to look?”

“Normally, maybe, but right now I’m not sure how far you’ll carry it.”

Dean laughed. “You must have me on a pretty short leash most of the time.”

“It’s not like that,” Sam muttered sourly.

“Yeah? Well what’s it like then?”

“You just… you never do that anymore. I mean you look, but it’s never serious.”

“Really. How can you be sure? I mean, what keeps me from just sneaking off to the bathroom with one of those girls?”

Sam’s expression turned fierce. “The fear that I’ll walk out on you again if you try it.”

Dean froze. “What?”

Sam exhaled loudly. “Never mind.”

“No, I think I need to hear this one,” Dean said. “Keep going.”

Sam relented. “I went away to college for four years, and… it was really hard on you. Part of you is always afraid I might leave you again.”

Dean stared. “You _hold_ that over me all the time? You seduced me, and then you dangle that over me to keep me here?”

“No!” Sam scowled. “And anyway, you’re the one that wanted _me._ ”

“Right, I just got bored one night and went after you in a motel. Because it would be impossible for a guy who looks like me to find anyone interested in sleeping with him.”

“It wasn’t anything like that.”

“Well then how was it exactly? How did we wind up doing this?”

“We just… we were hunting this _xionghen_ spirit, and it knocked me halfway across the room before it left. I passed out, and you thought it had gotten me for good. When I came to, you were leaning over me and begging me not to leave you. You were so worried…” Sam looked up at Dean through hesitant, half-searching eyes. “You were holding me the way you never let me hold _you_ —even when you’re half-dead—and I reached up and put my hand against your face and just kept it there. And you let me.” Sam swallowed and paused. “The expression on your face was just… you were so close to losing it, so desperate. I just couldn’t stand it. I pulled you down and kissed you.”

Dean’s eyes were huge and stunned.

“And then… you just let go. Everything. It was like the floodgates were opening. You just couldn’t stop kissing me, holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe. Like you would die if you ever let me go.” 

“And then we went at it like bunnies, and haven’t stopped since?”

“Keep your voice down!” Sam whispered. “You make it sound all sordid. That first time was actually very gentle. Kind of sweet.”

“That doesn’t even sound like me, not that I’d remember anyway. You make it sound like I was some sort of virgin.”

“Maybe you were,” Sam said softly. “I think that might have been the first time anyone loved you back.” Sam looked over at Dean, his voice thoughtful and quiet. “You were there for me, growing up, but you never had anyone that loved you the way you loved me. You always wanted more than Dad could give. I don’t know why, because you did everything he wanted you to. But it’s like he only noticed when you strayed off the path.” 

“Somebody must have loved me before that one time.” Dean’s voice lacked conviction.

“We never stayed in one place for long, and besides—you never let them. I was the only person you ever let in.”

“This makes me sound like some kind of pathetic loser.”

Sam sighed. “It’s not pathetic, Dean. It’s just who you are—you’re cautious with your heart. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be loved.”

Dean chewed his lip, thinking in silence. “When I look at women, does it hurt your feelings?”

“Pretty much, yes,” Sam said. 

“Even though you know I don’t remember?”

“Especially then,” Sam answered. Because then there was no hesitation, no thoughts about what it did to Sam. It marked how far away Dean had gone, and Sam knew there was a chance Dean might not make it back.

He never even saw this heartache coming. Just a week ago, everything had been okay. They’d driven through Yellowstone. Sam had pleaded with Dean to do it, even for just an afternoon. _We’ve traveled across the entire country all our lives, and never seen half the parts that matter!_

They had timed their visit to Old Faithful perfectly— it went off close to schedule, and it was very impressive. Even Dean admitted that it was remarkable.

They’d visited the boiling mudpots, which went far less well. Dean had turned on his heel and headed back to the car at the first hint of sulfur in the air. 

_What are you doing?_ Sam had hissed.

 _Getting holy water, a gun, and some knives,_ Dean had answered.

 _It’s not a demon, Dean. It’s a natural phenomenon. Back off already._

_That’s what everyone says at first, but once somebody vanishes or gets mutilated then the fun and games are over._

Dean never took any of the supplies out of his pockets, but he persisted in rocking on his heels behind Sam and eyeing everything and everyone suspiciously. The embarrassment had finally driven Sam to call it quits, and he muttered to himself all the way back to the car in accompaniment to Dean’s overconfident, macho stride.

Remembering it now, it all seemed so far away. To be annoyed with Dean—over all the things he did that were so very, insistently _him_ —was suddenly a luxury Sam wondered if he’d ever have again. 

~*~

They left the diner around 10 o’clock. Sam had eaten almost nothing. After their initial talk, Dean had not seemed particularly interested in finding out anything more about himself or the family history. Instead, he ate in silence. He looked everywhere but at Sam, as if his past was a mistake that might disappear if he just ignored it. Dean’s behavior filled Sam’s stomach with uneasiness, until he pushed his plate away in an admission of defeat.

They talked about what to do next. Dean suggested driving home, to see if their house could trigger any memories. Sam explained patiently about the hunting and roaming lifestyle, and that they’d never really had a home at all. Dean looked perturbed again, and Sam wavered in the surrealism of _him_ being the one to explain their lives to Dean, of him having to persuade Dean that this was a reasonable and desirable way to live. _This is it, the definition of irony right here,_ Sam thought. But there was no-one to share the joke with anymore.

 

-/-


	3. Dean: Who We Were Meant To Be

~*~

On the way back to the motel, Dean had the bright idea to call John. “Who knows, his voice might bring something back.”

“I should probably let him know we’ve been delayed,” Sam muttered in agreement. 

Sam dialed, and went over the situation with their father. Then he handed over the phone and looked at Dean expectantly. 

“Uh, hello?” Dean said. 

“Sam says you don’t remember anything,” the voice in his ear said.

“Uh, no sir.” Dean answered.

“Well at least you haven’t forgotten your manners,” the man chuckled.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes sir, no sir—some of your training is still intact.”

Dean held the phone out and looked at it, disbelief registering on his face. “You call your father _sir?_ ” he whispered to Sam, hand over the mouthpiece.

“And so do you,” Sam whispered back. “He’s very big on that.”

Dean frowned, and returned the phone to his ear. “Yes sir, I suppose it is.”

“What do you think of Sam then?” the guy asked.

“Well, he’s uh… he’s kind of cute, I guess,” Dean said. He heard Sam choke. Sam jabbed his arm and made slashing motions across his own throat.

 _“What?”_ the voice said.

“I mean… it’s nice to have a little brother. A younger brother. A Sam...” Dean stumbled on as Sam rolled his eyes and took the phone away.

“Dad?” Sam asked. “I think we’d better go now. It sounds like Dean is wearing down.”

“He’s definitely confused,” John agreed. “Well, keep me posted.”

“Yes sir,” Sam said, and the conversation was over.

Dean sat down on the ground, lost in the nightmare world that supposedly was his life. 

“Are you nuts, bringing that up?” Sam asked.

“Well, how was I supposed to know? You never told him?”

“Of course not! That’s not the kind of thing you tell _anybody_ — _especially_ your Dad.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean muttered. “So now what?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. ‘I can’t think of anything right now that will help you remember. And I can’t commit to any real work until you do. Maybe we should just chuck it for the rest of the afternoon. We’re really close to Glacier Park, and I’ve always wanted to see it. Let’s just be tourists for awhile.”

Now that sounded better than screwed-up phone conversations and witch-hunts—or vampire hunts, or whatever it was they did. They took some water and snacks from the motel room and loaded them in the car.

“Can I drive?” Dean asked.

“You probably shouldn’t. Head injury, amnesia. If you wind up hurting this car, you’ll kill me for it later when you remember.”

“Okay.” Dean didn’t see the troubled look on Sam’s face when he gave in so easily.

~*~

About thirty miles out of Kalispell, they began driving through Glacier Park. It was as beautiful as its reputation boasted. Forested groves at the edges of expansive low-grass meadows. Granite cliffs rising out of the trees toward the endless sky. They glimpsed a moose at the stream flowing out of the forest, and the road climbed and narrowed as the mountains got higher.

Just before a crest, Sam slowed the car down for a scattering of sheep standing on the road. As soon as the car stopped, the sheep approached and snuffled at the windows.

“Get rid of them!” Dean found himself saying.

Sam laughed. “They won’t hurt us—relax.”

Dean was not convinced. “Look at their eyes,” he said. “They’re evil—possessed or something. Satanic goats. Get rid of them!”

Sam just looked at him. “They’re not goats. They’re sheep. Mountain sheep. And this is what they always look like.”

“Then why won’t they go away?” Dean asked triumphantly.

Sam shook his head. “They probably smell salt in here or something. That’s all.”

Still, Dean was relieved when Sam eased the car forward and the clump of menacing wildlife parted to let them through.

The rest of the drive passed without incident, though Dean fell asleep halfway through the return journey. It was dark by the time they reached the motel again.

~*~

Sam’s cell phone rang halfway through the hamburgers they had bought at a nearby McDonald’s.

“Hello,” he said. “Yes, sir. No, not yet. I don’t know… What?... In Polson?... I can check it out tonight. Yes, after midnight. Okay, will do.”

“Was that Dad again?” Dean asked. How strange to call someone ‘Dad’ and have no mental image to go with it.

“Yeah—he has a job for me later tonight. About sixty miles from here. A zombie attack.”

“Seriously? A zombie?” Dean asked eagerly. He couldn’t help himself—it was like something out of a bad horror movie. He was dying to see if it was real.

“Yes,” Sam said cautiously. “You’re staying here, though.”

“Nothing doing,” Dean insisted. “What if you don’t come back? What if I’m left here for days with no money and no memory? Then what—I turn myself in to the police for help?”

A satisfying look of alarm crossed Sam’s face at that last suggestion. “All right,” Sam said grudgingly. “But you have to stay in the car.”

“Sure, sure,” Dean agreed. Anything to get a chance to come along. He wondered if Sam had a camera? They could make a fortune selling this kind of stuff to The National Enquirer. 

He watched as Sam sat wearily on the other bed. “What is it?” he asked.

Sam breathed out noisily. “Nothing,” he said. “I just… I wish you remembered, that’s all.”

Dean had honestly wondered about the two of them, about how things had ever worked given the disagreements that cropped up even in the smallest conversations. He realized suddenly that he had no idea if this was how things usually were. Because he was not yet himself right now… and maybe this wasn’t Sam’s normal behavior either. He wasn’t quite the Dean that Sam was used to, not really the Dean that Sam was missing. “Must be kind of lonely,” Dean said slowly.

Sam turned his face away. “You don’t know the half of it,” he whispered. His posture was so bleak that Dean’s stomach grew heavy. 

“Should we try something else?” Dean asked quietly. “To help me remember?” He grabbed at the first thing that came to mind. “What if you kissed me? Maybe that would bring it back.”

Sam looked over quickly, his face so anguished that Dean immediately regretted saying it. “This is already as much rejection as I can take, Dean.” Sam spoke as if his throat were coated with nails. 

“Sorry,” Dean said, wishing he had more to offer. He felt sick with the weight of being so much to Sam while feeling none of it himself. He liked Sam well enough, but that was as far as his feelings went. And he had the distinct feeling that had they not been brothers, they wouldn’t have had much to say to each other. They were just too different. 

Sam lay down, rolling on his side away from his brother. Dean had admired the lean, muscled length of that body earlier, _Purely on an aesthetic basis_ he told himself, but it looked different and unimpressive at the moment. Legs pulled up and his body curled in close, Sam was a portrait of misery that Dean could not bear to witness.

~*~

Dean had drifted off again, and woke up to find Sam’s jacket draped over his chest. Sam was moving around the room, gathering supplies and checking the map again.

“What’s the water for?” Dean’s voice was still thick with sleep.

“For us,” Sam answered. “It’s kind of like setting up for a stakeout. We watch and wait until it’s time to move in.”

“Oh,” Dean said. He got up slowly, scratching his hair until he saw Sam’s quickly-hidden smile. “What?” he asked.

“Check the mirror,” Sam laughed softly.

Dean’s punked-out image greeted him in the bathroom, complete with a black t-shirt and dark circles under the eyes. “I’ll have you know this is all the rage in college towns,” Dean called out.

“Like you’d know,” Sam retorted. Dean shut the door and used the toilet. _Smart ass,_ he thought. He washed up, combing his hair down with water and brushing his teeth for good measure. 

Sam was already out at the car when Dean came out. The clock showed 9:30 now. “Want me to carry something?” he asked, as Sam came back in for his jacket.

“Nope—we’re good,” Sam said. 

Ten minutes into the drive, Dean fell asleep to the quiet tinny thrash of some metal-heavy band Sam was into.

~*~

They parked on a road behind the cemetery, waiting as the time crept on toward midnight.

“So how does this go?” Dean asked.

“Well first, _you_ stay in the car,” Sam said.

“I _know_ already, I know.”

“Then I wait out-of-sight where I can see the rest of the cemetery, watch him heading out toward the middle of town.”

“And then?” Dean prodded.

“Then I blind him with the lantern, get him with the blow-torch or stab him if he gets too close, and then tie him up and burn him.”

Dean shuddered. “That’s just… gross,” he said.

Sam nodded, only half paying attention. “Everything about zombies is gross.”

“So when?” Dean asked.

Sam checked his watch. “Looks like it’s now,” he said. “Wish me luck. And lock the doors until it’s me.”

“Leave me the keys, just in case,” Dean said. He leaned back to wait, but found himself grabbing Sam’s arm as his brother was getting out of the car. “Sam… be careful,” Dean said. 

It meant more than Dean expected, and probably less than Sam might hope for, but it was a step forward from where they had been. Dean wanted Sam to come back, for reasons that had nothing to do with his own predicament. He wanted it because it was Sam, because even with everything Dean had forgotten, Sam had still crept on in and made himself important all over again. 

“I will,” Sam said softly. He looked at Dean, as if searching for a trace of what was missing. The sadness in his eyes lingered in Dean’s thoughts when Sam closed the door.

It was dark on that road, almost too dark to see once Sam was more than twenty yards away from the car. Dean moved over to the driver’s side, hoping to get a better view of his brother’s movements.

He couldn’t stop watching, couldn’t keep his nerves at bay. Sam might take this whole thing in stride, but it sounded incredibly dangerous. One wrong move—one little mistake—and Sam could wind up being a victim instead of a hero.

And it wasn’t like Dean remembered anything helpful, although he honestly wished he did. This wasn’t safe, and it wasn’t smart, and if it was easy then zombies would be Dead instead of Undead.

Dean fidgeted in the car, his eyes tracking back and forth across Sam and the forest surrounding his brother. He saw movement—a rolling ripple in the quality of the blackness—and when Sam turned he knew Sam saw it too. 

His brother was poised, his movements swift and sure. Sam blinded and shot at the zombie in a quick sequence of motion. But something was off—Dean couldn’t put his finger on it—and then he saw the blackness shift again behind Sam’s back as another zombie stepped out to join the first.

Dean was out of the car before he knew it, opening the trunk and letting muscle memory guide him through the hidden stash of weapons. He picked up a 12-gauge, a wooden stake and a bottle of water and ran toward the danger that awaited his brother.

Sam was fighting off the second zombie now, while the first began lifting itself off the ground. He used the blowtorch, sending the smell of burnt flesh out into the night even as the zombie moved closer in spite of the heat.

Awareness rolled through Dean’s head like thunder, triggered by that disgusting, locked-away odor. He staggered under the flood of information ripping through his mind—unfocused and unordered, everything from overlapping details of Winchester knowledge to pieces of the past, his favorite color, Sam’s hatred of grape jelly. And then an important realization moved into the foreground. These were _not zombies._ They were not bothered by fire. And Sam’s methods probably wouldn’t work.

The second creature launched itself at Sam, flattening him and locking its hands on his throat. Dean sprang into action immediately. He fired at the first creature with the shotgun, the blast knocking it down to the ground. The second creature was too close to Sam for shooting. Dean scanned the area for possibilities, and finally grabbed the wooden stake in desperation. He jammed it down into the creature’s skull, encouraged by the squishy sound it made. The creature collapsed on Sam, crushing his limp body under its weight. Sam just lay there, so completely and horribly still.

Dean was torn between killing the other creature and checking on Sam. Instinct or training told him to take care of business first, so he used a fallen branch to finish the other one off. Then he gave in and followed his heart instead of his head.

Pulling the creature off his brother, Dean knelt down and checked Sam’s pulse. Still alive, still breathing, but so pale under the light of the midnight moon.

Dean gathered Sam up, running his free hand over Sam’s face. “Sam,” he said. “Sam, are you all right?” His restless fingers brushed over the bruises on Sam’s throat. “Sammy?” he pleaded.

Sam stirred slightly, his eyes still closed. “I told you to stay in the car,” he rasped out.

Dean pulled Sam close, ignoring Sam’s squeezed-out cough. “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.” He rocked Sam like a child clutching a teddy bear after the nightmare’s end.

“They weren’t zombies,” Sam whispered hoarsely.

“I know,” Dean reassured him. “But we’re safe now. I killed them.”

“What do you mean, you _know?_ ” Sam asked.

“I remembered,” Dean said softly. “Right before the second one got you, it started coming back.” Dean’s heart tightened, knowing what he’d put Sam through. “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” He stroked Sam’s hair off his forehead. “For all of it, the whole last week. I’m sorry I didn’t come back all the way. I’m sorry you had to wait.” His voice caught at the look in Sam’s eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry I forgot all the things that mattered.” 

“Do you remember _us_ now?” Sam asked hesitantly. 

Dean nodded, too embarrassed to meet Sam’s eyes. “I don’t know why it wouldn’t come to me before.”

Sam sighed. “Maybe this isn’t right for you anymore. Maybe you wanted to stop and just couldn’t tell me.”

“No, no Sammy-- I would never give this up! I couldn’t stand it if…” Dean fell silent. He’d said too much already. 

“Then stop talking and _show_ me,” Sam whispered, his voice rough and his eyes too bright.

And Dean did, leaning down to claim everything he’d lost. He kissed Sam breathless, chasing away doubt and loneliness and sorrow. 

“I _missed_ you,” Sam breathed. He touched Dean reverently, his hands finally home in the softness of Dean’s hair.

Dean’s lips kept speaking his apologies, his arms full of the only past and future he really needed.

Their language without words, their memories of themselves, flowed freely in the stillness all around them. They drifted together, remade again as one, under the expanse of the starlit sky.

 

_\-------- fin --------_


End file.
